LOTR: The Eye of the Beholder
by goodnight moonshine
Summary: The Fellowship of the Ring through the perspective of a female elf. After seeing Aragorn in a tavern, Gwyndolynne drags her older brother to Rivendell with her. In Rivendell, they meet up with the fellowship and an old family friend.
1. The Prancing Pony

(Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, or languages created by the great J.R.R. Tolkien. The rest are mine.)  
  
Gwyndolynne slowly walked into a tavern, almost floating. Her light green cloak touched the ground with every step. Below the hood over her head one can barley see her vibrant aqua-almost with a hint of red, eyes staring angrily at the opposing wall.  
Her dark brown hair falls on the middle of her chest. She slowly lifted off her hood exposing her pale face. Glaring, she sat down on a barstool. Her long cloak hangs but a few centimeters off of the dirty tavern floor.  
Carelessly, she puts her hair behind her ears, showing that they have a small point to them. Her eyes settle upon a homeless sea-elf sitting on the tavern floor. Suddenly her eyes begin to change into a bluish brown colour. Dropping her anger-she strolled over to the sea-elf with a smile. Gwyndolynne pushed her cloak out of the way of her hips exposing an amber coloured sheath with elvish writing on it. She grabbed for her money sack- placing two silver coins into the straggly elf's blue hands. A glint of happiness shows in the elf's marine eyes. With one smile Gwyndolynne turns, her cloak swishes with her swift movement. Slowly, with each step precise, she walks again to her seat. A quick glance to over where the man was sitting and Gwyndolynne realizes he is suddenly gone.  
Immediately Gwyndolynne thought of her father. Her father had taught her most everything she knows. Her father taught her to always do nice things. For, if you did nice things for people, it gave you an almost sure spot on a ship to the Gray Havens.  
Her father always did nice things for people, Gwyndolynne is still disappointed he never got to go to the Gray Havens-he died in battle. Her father also taught Gwyndolynne everything she knows about paring and swordsmanship. Naratalion, her father, is greatly missed by Gwyndolynne.  
Take Culrúnris....mel....Gwyndolynne recalled the date of her father's death. She unsheathed her sword-examining the Culrúnris. Culrúnris glinted with every move it make. Light shone upon the elvish writing. He had named his sword Culrúnris 3 months before he died.  
Gwyndolynne began to realize her surroundings. Many were staring. She slowly sheathed her sword, trying to act natural. She glanced around at the tavern. Gwyndolynne looked into a corner of the tavern, noticing a hooded figure. All Gwyndolynne could see was his cherry lips.  
Four very small men walked into the cavern. They looked afraid. Gwyndolynne wasn't sure to feel sorry for them, or take them as enemies. They were soaked with rain, from which 'twas pouring outside. Gwyndolynne glanced back at the hooded figure. He had begun smoking a pipe. He had let up his hood a little, exposing gorgeous blue eyes, whose radiance filled the room with magic. But Gwyndolynne realized something- seeing now his whole face- she realized he was a Man.  
Gwyndolynne had now noticed the four little people had taken their hoods off, and were having a drink. They had very curly hair, and were definitely shorter than dwarves. The Man in the corner was eyeing the one with dark hair most curiously. The Man began to look very familiar, before Gwyndolynne had decided who it was, a very clumsy barmaid ran into her spilling sherry onto her light green dress. Gwyndolynne forgave the barmaid out of courtesy and sauntered to the other side of the tavern. She looked down at the cherry red stain, she muttered something under her breath, making it disappear into her dress.  
Gwyndolynne struck a glance back to the Man smoking his pipe in the corner. Suddenly, realization hit her hard on the head. She knew exactly who it was. From complete bafflement, she raced out the tavern doors- forgetting about her dignity, she hit her shoulder against the door. She bolted out like an arrow coming from a tightly strung bow. She searched back and forth looking for a certain cottage. In the background one could hear songs of Men and Elvenfolk. Slipping on her hood, Gwyndolynne looked up at a house and quickly looked away. She did a double take, now realizing this was the house she was looking for. Slightly out of breath, Gwyndolynne stepped up to the cottage door giving it a soft knock. 


	2. The Journey Begins

(Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, places, or languages created by Tolkien. The rest are fictional.)  
  
A tall and proud elf opened the door wearing only trousers. He was embarrassed to see a maiden-elf in this state, so he slipped back into his house quickly slipping on a green shirt.  
"How can I help you miss?" the elf said with a slight bow of his head. Without speech, Gwyndolynne slipped back her hood exposing her whole head. "Gwyndolynne? It's been so long! How have you been? Good I do hope! Dear, I am speaking to much aren't I?"  
"We have no time for small talk, Amanthulë. He is back," Gwyndolynne stated bluntly.  
Amanthulë was aghast, "Do you mean," he took a pause, trying to recall the name, "A-" Gwyndolynne put her fingers to his warm lips.  
"We mustn't speak out here."  
Embarrassed at his own manners, Amanthulë politely offered Gwyndolynne a place in his cottage. Gwyndolynne knew this wasn't his house, he had been staying here with his wife for many years. This cottage was very well groomed, though not very welcoming. It had dark walls and dark shades over all the windows, almost as if the people in it were at a mourning state.  
"How do you know he's back?" Amanthulë tried the rush the matter out of Gwyndolynne.  
"He was in the Prancing Pony," Gwyndolynne stated after a long pause. A short elf entered the room wearing clothes that Gwyndolynne made up to be rags. She slouched, making her even shorter than true. Gwyndolynne made her out to be about one meter shorter than herself. This maiden-elf disgraced the race of elves with her untamed hair and the way she slouched.  
  
"O! A guest!" the maiden-elf sounded pleased, "Some whiskey you would like?"  
"No thank you," Gwyndolynne said displeased at her terrible grammar.  
"This is my wife, Uglinia," Amanthulë smiled.  
"Pleased to meet you," Gwyndolynne stood and gave the maiden-elf a slight curtsy remembering manners.  
Uglinia was in awe with Gwyndolynne's curtsy, she looked at her with large eyes. Suddenly remembering her manners, she curtsied low.  
"If you don't mind, we have business to work out." Uglinia rushed out of the room.  
"As a guess, I would bet they are on their way to Rivendell, Elrond has waited years to see the heir."  
Realizing Gwyndolynne was right, Amanthulë began to get packs ready to travel.  
"I will need some trousers if we are going by horse," Gwyndolynne took off her cloak showing her pale green dress. Amanthulë eyed her sheath, which was attached to her belt and tied around her waist in an unladylike fashion.  
"Isn't that father's?" Amanthulë questioned with a pang of jealousy tossing Gwyndolynne a pair of his old trousers.  
"Aye, and mind you- I will need a shirt also," Amanthulë threw Gwyndolynne a green shirt, darker than her dress, "I'll go change," Gwyndolynne stated ambling towards the bedroom door. Once inside, Gwyndolynne realized this room wasn't very happy either. It was also much dirtier. Gwyndolynne stood in front of a full sized mirror as she pulled her flowing marine dress over her head. She stood there only in her breeches and her corset. Gwyndolynne tried to reach the laces of her corset, but her hands did not reach that far back. She began to miss the maids that helped her out of her corset at the Prancing Pony. Without touching the laces, Gwyndolynne untied her corset and breathed deeply. She let the corset fall on the ground. Silently, Gwyndolynne put Amanthulë trousers and shirt on over her breeches. She gently folded her dress and wrapped her corset inside of it. Gwyndolynne strapped her sheathed sword around her trousers, and swung her bow over her head and onto her back. She stuck her corset and dress into the pack Amanthulë gave her. Satisfied, Gwyndolynne turned to leave. A leaf caught her eye, as she looked closer, she realized it was a leaf from the Golden Wood, also known as Lothlórien. Gwyndolynne missed her home dearly. But now she was always traveling, it was hard for her to go home. Lothlórien reminded her of her father, which made it even harder to return home. A tear of light ran down Gwyndolynne's cheek. She wept of her father for only a few minutes, before drying her eyes and returning to the sitting room.  
Amanthulë put extra clothes and food into his pack. He had set extra food for Gwyndoylnne, she put the food into her pack and tied the rope tightly.  
"To Rivendell?" Amanthulë asked solemnly which made Gwyndolynne nervous, Amanthulë used to be the brave older brother. After Amanthulë gave his wife a kiss on her forehead, they set out of the house walking through the small town of Bree.  
It was eight furlongs to the horse stables were Amanthulë kept his two horses. Only did Amanthulë and Gwyndolynne began talking at the last furlong.  
"Why did you get father's sword?" Amanthulë asked, his jealousy showing with pride.  
This stuck a nerve of Gwyndolynne, "Perhaps it's because I was there fighting at his side, while you were busy laying around in Rivendell!"  
Amanthulë looked offended, "I was not laying around, I was getting married!"  
"To your unaccomplished and ungraceful wife?" Gwyndolynne regretted her words. She was appalled that she let her temper get a hold of her. Amanthulë gave her an evil look and walked into the stables letting the door slam into her face. Gwyndolynne let out an audible sigh. Why am I so stupid? I hate having to apologize to him- but if I don't, this will be the absolute worst trip to Rivendell. Gwyndolynne was disgusted with herself. 


	3. Weathertop

(Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, places, or languages created by Tolkien.)  
  
Amanthulë came out a few minutes later with a dark brown horse with a white diamond perfectly in the middle of its head. Amanthulë held tightly to this horse's reins. He handed Gwyndolynne the reins of the other horse. It shook it's white mane. Its off-white hair seemed to have a radiant glow. Gwyndolynne took the reins and lightly hoped on.  
"Thank you," she said to the back of Amanthulë, but he continued to ignore her. Gwyndolynne had the urge to tell him how immature he was, but she resisted and swallowed her pride, "I'm sorry Amanthulë- I'll try to control my temper more."  
Amanthulë looked backed at her with tears in his eyes, "I should have been there by father. I am sorry too, Gwynne." Gwyndolynne excepted the apology, but glared at Amanthulë for calling her Gwynne.  
"Please call me by my full name," Gwyndolynne tried to be as innocent as possible.  
"Forgive me," Amanthulë looked back at Gwyndolynne with a hint of a sarcastic smile. His cloak dangled down from his sepia horse. The hood of his cloak was down, so one could easily see his amber hair hanging down but a few centimeters under his shoulders. He had his hair tied behind his head in a tight knot. At the time, his eyes were a pale blue, but usually were a radiant blue.  
  
After a few hours of riding, Gwyndolynne began to sing an old travel song in the common tongue:  
  
I bundled me heart and I roamed the world free,  
To the east with the lark, to the west with the sea,  
And I search'd all the earth,  
And I scanned all the skies.  
But I found it at last in my own true love's eyes.  
  
Amanthulë gave her a slight smile, Gwyndoylnne could feel his sadness radiating over the grass and plains they were traveling through. They had almost reached Amon Sûl. The sun had began to sink into the mountains in the west.  
  
On the way up Amon Sûl, Gwyndolynne noticed a dark figure off the right. She whispered into Amanthulë ear, "It's a Nazgûl," she pointed in its direction. Amanthulë grabbed his bow from behind his back and quickly pulled a arrow from his quiver stringing it with such grace. Before she stopped him, Amanthulë shot at the Nazgûl. He missed, for Gwyndolynne pushed his bow too far to the right. The arrow landed a fourth a furlong away from the dark figure.  
"What were you thinking?" Amanthulë shouted at Gwyndolynne.  
"And the same to you. The only way to kill a Ringwraith is to kill its master! Amanthulë, you've changed," Gwyndolynne tried to keep her voice down as she pulled Amanthulë behind a rock, out of view from the Nazgûl. Amanthulë gave her a dark look. She pulled on her brother's sleeve, "Come."  
They ran up Amon Sûl, staying out view from the Nazgûl. Once at the top, Amanthulë noticed something worse than the Nazgûl. About twenty furlongs away, there was a gang of Orcs headed their way. Gwyndolynne noticed them before Amanthulë said anything to her. Amanthulë began to string an arrow, but Gwyndolynne stopped him.  
"I thought you were a fighter!" Amanthulë shouted too loud.  
"Not when it's two against three-hundred!" Gwyndolynne kept her voice down hoping Amanthulë would do the same.  
  
Author's Note: I will continue writing /I story when I get positive reviews! Thanks 


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